Facing the Dead
by Megara79
Summary: She’d let what felt like an appropriate amount of time pass before the magnitude of the situation had forced her to leave the bridge for the sanctuary of her ready room. Set directly after Endgame.


**Title: Facing the Dead  
Author: Megara79  
Series: Star Trek: Voyager  
Rating: K+  
Summary: She'd let what felt like an appropriate amount of time pass before the magnitude of the situation had forced her to leave the bridge for the sanctuary of her ready room. ****Set directly after Endgame.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**As always; thanks to: Evil Shall Giggle, my fabulous beta, who, for some unfathomable reason, is still sticking around. **

She'd let what felt like an appropriate amount of time pass before the magnitude of the situation had forced her to leave the bridge for the sanctuary of her ready room.

It had started with _Voyager_. It always did, it seemed. She was sitting in her chair, her incredulous eyes glued to the screen without quite taking in the view, when she'd first felt it.

_Voyager_ was shaking.

She was about to ask Harry for a status report, but as she turned her head towards him she quickly realised that it wasn't _Voyager_ who was shaking. It was her. Her hands quickly gripped a hold of the armrests in an attempt to still the movement and she watched in morbid fascination as the taut skin of her knuckles turned white with effort. A dull ache in her head was beginning to make itself evident and she wanted to close her eyes to fight off the nausea that would undoubtedly soon accompany it. It was when her vision started to blur that she opted to leave. She managed to rise from the chair and walk the short distance to her ready room without causing a scene. She was barely aware she was speaking when her voice, quietly but steadily, told Chakotay that the bridge was his. The doors swished open; she stepped inside, and behind her nobody seemed the wiser.

A strangled sound escaped her as soon as the doors closed and she grabbed at her uniform. The coarse material clung to her body, restricting her movement, and she fought the urge to swear. It was too warm and she was having trouble breathing. She desperately tried to get the zipper of her jacket open and she moved away from the doors, stumbling across the floor as she tried to rid herself of the offending garment.

"Computer, reduce temperature by three degrees," she hissed, pulling at the turtleneck. The jacket had fallen to the floor and was lying in a crumpled heap by her desk.

She reached the bulkhead at the opposite side of the room and pressed her palms against it, trying to calm her breathing. It wasn't helping and frustration surged through her before she pushed away, turned, and stalked back to where she'd come from. Pulling the turtleneck over her head, claustrophobia took a momentary hold of her as she struggled to get the piece of clothing over her head. The grey material fell to the ground and tendrils of hair fell against her face. Clammy hands stroked down her throat as if to make sure it was really gone, and she continued to pace.

She pulled the tank top from the lining of her pants and used the hem to fan some air in under it. She felt like she was boiling and she ordered the computer to lower the temperature another two degrees. A vivid picture flashed in her mind and she pinched the bridge of her nose in a vain attempt to chase away the headache. She was back at the bulkhead and the brilliant explosion of the Caretaker's array almost made her trip. The memory quickly dissolved to make room for another. She flinched as she saw her own hand filled with crawling maggots on a barren planet, ordering the crew to eat. She nearly screamed as assimilation tubules sunk into her neck, releasing nanoprobes intent on devouring her individuality. The lump in her throat grew as Tom and B'Elanna asked her to marry them.

A made-up legend evoked a sob.

The Captain's Assistant, Sandrine's, velocity, macroviruses, blaring klaxons and red alerts, leola root, omnipotent beings, Kes, a white haired Admiral, Earth, home, home, home.

She was at the doors again. It felt like her skin was crawling and she fought the urge to rake her nails down her arms. She closed her eyes briefly and tried to concentrate on her breathing.

Marie Kaplan.

Her breath hitched, and she kicked of her shoes. "Focus Kathryn," she told herself. "Keep breathing."

Pete Durst.

Her head jerked to the side. It was still too warm. Her socks disappeared in the general direction of her shoes.

Ed Hogan.

Her palms connected with the bulkhead once more and she forced herself to stay put. Names, hidden at the back of her consciousness, floated through her mind and she winced as each appeared before her. Kurt Bendera, Lyndsay Ballard, Claudia Craig, Andrea Stadi. The ghosts of the dead filled the room and she carefully turned, facing them as she pressed her damp back against the cool wall.

Allan Cavit, Lon Suder, Ahni Jetal.

They all looked at her, clothes tattered, some with bleeding gashes across their bodies, others with burns covering their faces. An additional few showed no physical signs of their demise, but she still knew how each of them had died. It was etched into her brain and she kept trembling.

"I'm so sorry." A shaking hand came up to rest partially over her mouth. _Voyager _had brought a hundred and forty-six people with her as she burst through the exploding Borg hive and into the Alpha Quadrant. Kathryn had left bodies behind.

A flurry of emotions surged through her, yet she couldn't hold on to a single one of them. It was too much. She felt like there was a war being fought inside her and it was slowly tearing her apart. She wanted to embrace their return and celebrate it. She wanted to cry and rage at the losses she'd caused and suffered. Elation, exhaustion, relief, grief, guilt, desperation, happiness, panic, joy, sadness, regret. They all tugged at her, demanding attention before disappearing off into space. It was like she was being weighed down by a heavy anchor while her body struggled to fly. She was beginning to suspect that she was having a slight breakdown and that thought alone was enough to send her heart into another beating frenzy. A tear managed to find its way down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away.

"Calm down!" she ordered herself.

Irish music and renaissance dresses. Flying with Da Vinci, a bathtub on New Earth, a confused man calling her his daughter. Jaffen, peace roses, and a million other recollections of a seven year journey that was suddenly over.

Mark Fitzgerald, Timothy Lang, Ezri Bahro, D'Anna Tero.

She bit down on her lip and felt the metallic tang of blood attack her taste buds. The sting of the bite hardly registered. She wanted to move, but her feet, naked toes curled into the carpet, felt like they were made of lead and she could do nothing but watch as the doors to her ready room opened before her. She hadn't even heard the chime.

He stopped just inside and eyed the various pieces of clothing strewn across the room while the doors shut behind him. The hand covering her mouth was shaking violently and she said nothing as he took in the scene. She should have expected him. No matter how distant they'd become, he still had a knack for walking in on her when she wanted to be alone. A flutter of annoyance was replaced by gratitude, before both disappeared and the dead returned.

Charles Young. Mia Lowen.

"Are you okay?" His eyes darted from a sock by his shoe to meet hers. His voice was quiet and his expression told her that he knew the question was redundant. She swallowed hard and found that no matter how much she wanted to, it was impossible to look away.

"I'm fine," she answered, moving her hand slightly to the right as she spoke. The self-deprecating derision with which the words had been uttered wasn't lost on him and his lips tugged upwards at her trademark reply. He took a step forward, but stopped as the hand shifted towards him followed by a strained, "Don't."

"Kathryn—" he tried, but she shook her head and another tear managed to spill down her cheek.

"I can't…" she cleared her throat, eyes still glued to his. He could see she was struggling to keep her composure and he wondered for a short moment if he should call for the EMH. Her voice came again, however, and the thought disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The Doctor would be of no help today. "I'm conversing with dead people, Chakotay, and I'm finding it a little hard to not—" she took a shuddering breath before continuing, "—unravel. I'm afraid your presence isn't helping the situation."

He was somewhat shocked at her admittance. She rarely acknowledged her weaknesses to anyone but herself and the few occasions when she'd shared those particular feelings with him had become fewer and further in between. He could only imagine the thoughts running through her mind, but he suspected a majority of them were less than pleasant. An unexpected spark of anger at her insistent need to wallow in guilt and second guesses made him take another step towards her.

The hand, this time accompanied with a familiar glare, defused his irritation and he stopped yet again. He waited for his dismissal, but the order never came. He took another step forward and watched as she pressed herself even tighter against the bulkhead.

Considering how hell bent the woman in front of him had been on getting them home, he couldn't help but find it ironic that they'd never really talked about what their homecoming would be like. Yes, they'd chatted about the Maquis, about meeting family and friends, what food they'd eat first, but they'd never really discussed what the return to the Alpha Quadrant would do to _them_. He wasn't particularly concerned with his own reaction, but he worried for hers.

How would she cope without running _Voyager_?

Would she struggle with having to answer to a higher authority? Would she wake up in the middle of the night ready to fight because she, in a sleep-induced state, had happened to confuse a passing siren for the klaxons? Would she revel in the lack of responsibility? Would she thrive in the promotion that was surely coming? Would she fall apart? Would she have nightmares, dreaming of all the things she'd been forced to live through the passed seven years? Would she adjust to being just Kathryn?

Could she?

In the back of his mind, treacherous thoughts whispered their own questions. Would they lose touch? Would she marry? Would she miss him? Could he live without her? He spoke just as much for her benefit as to rid himself of his own thoughts.

"The dead held you in just as high a regard as the living. Don't you ever doubt that."

"We're _home_." She stated it as if he hadn't been there on the bridge with her when Admiral Paris's face had appeared on the view screen. Like he had no idea what had just happened.

"And you brought a hundred and forty-six people back with you."

"_She_ did." The same hand used to halt his advances towards her touched the bulkhead. "And you did. _I_ left people behind."

"Yes, you did."

She looked like he'd struck her and he ignored his conscience. He knew where this was going. They'd played this game before with varying results. The only thing that seemed certain was that whatever reprieve he'd manage to give her would be short lived. He'd tried every other trick in the book to make her shed some of the blame she so stubbornly clung to. Maybe he'd have more luck with this approach.

"People _did_ die because you destroyed the array, and you're just going to have to learn to live with that fact, because they aren't coming back. Tell me though; did you ever consider the lives that were saved that day? And I'm not just talking about the Ocampa. Every decision has consequences, and yours, though inadvertently leading to the death of people on this crew, brought more good with it than you are willing to see."

"I think Joe Carey's wife and children would beg to differ." She stared at him, voice laced in venom and eyes wide. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and decide on what to say next. He was still surprised that she hadn't thrown him out, and he wondered if her lack of action suggested that he might have more luck with her this time. A flicker of hope ignited somewhere within him.

She, on the other hand, eyed him heatedly, waiting for his counter move. She momentarily questioned why she didn't just order him to leave, but the thought evaporated as another name sailed through her mind.

Keori Centi.

She swallowed hard and sensed the flash of anger she'd felt towards him slither away. She was almost thankful when he started speaking again as Ensign Centi bowed her head at the sound and took a step back.

"Diane Carey married a Starfleet officer. They both knew the risks that come with our line of work. They both accepted it, or they wouldn't have gotten married in the first place. Joe died. You can grieve and you can feel guilty about it, but you better damn well learn to live with it because all this—" he gestured at the mess in her ready room, "—is over. You've brought more people back with you than you lost, and your sheer force of will have kept those people alive over the years. You've shown the Maquis members of your crew a new way of living. A good way of living. And you've taught each and every one of us what it truly means to be a Starfleet officer. And you should be proud, and you should accept the fact that even the dead would follow you on this journey if they had to do it over again. You are not infallible Kathryn, and no one but you has ever expected you to be." He almost jumped in surprise when she shot from her place at the bulkhead, half expecting his cheek to be on the receiving end of a palm.

Instead she moved away from him.

Leaving as much space between them as she possible could, she hurriedly stepped up to the upper level of the room. She clawed at her neck again. It felt like the turtleneck was still there, tightening around her throat, doing its damndest to choke her. Ignoring the warning look she sent him, he followed. She kept shaking her head and trying to get some distance between them, but the funny thing about bulkheads was that they tended to enclose a room entirely and she soon found herself trapped between them, him, and the rail of the upper deck. She had nowhere to run and she knew it. He wasn't going to budge this time, and for some unfathomable reason her mouth seemed to refuse to utter the three words that would _make_ him leave her alone: _'You're dismissed, Commander'_. Then again, a small voice told her, he might very well decide to refuse the order this time. She wasn't sure if she liked that idea or not.

In the last six months or so, she'd started to think that he'd given up on her. And she'd actually appreciated it. Without him there to force her to break from the Captain every now and then, she was free to be whoever she saw fit. She hadn't really noticed that she chose the Captain over Kathryn at every opportunity. She hadn't realised that, however detrimental it might be in the long run, it helped her cope. It was beyond ironic that it turned out to be her own words, albeit from a future self, that forced Kathryn back into the light. The foundation of her barriers had been thoroughly damaged by the revelation of Chakotay's marriage to Seven. She'd barely managed to stay on top of the mission as the walls began to crumple, and before she'd had any real chance to digest what they were really trying to accomplish, they were back in the Alpha Quadrant. She suspected this little breakdown of hers was, in part, a reaction to loosing the constant protection the Captain offered. _Kathryn_ didn't want Chakotay to marry Seven, and _Kathryn_ felt every blow ten times more strongly than the Captain. And she refused to be tucked away again.

"We're home!" She said frantically, trying to strangle her own thoughts. She wasn't even sure what point she was trying to make anymore.

"Yes." He'd stopped a couple of feet away from her, just outside arm's reach, and he was comforted to see that it didn't look like she was going to jump the rail to get away from him. He looked at her, waiting for her next move. She walked back and forth between the view port and the rail, shaking her hands as if she was trying to force some life into them.

"I can't breathe…" she mumbled, pushing pieces of hair from her face before wringing her hands together. She felt Kathryn and the Captain fight each other and from a distance Joe Carey was smiling comfortingly at her. The sight almost broke her.

"It's over." Chakotay's calm voice reached her and she stopped pacing.

"I'm not going to be their Captain anymore." Her eyes met his and her chest heaved as she fought for control.

"No, you're not."

"It's over?"

"Yes."

"It's over," she repeated. Another tear managed to escape and with a final stride he was close enough, hands reaching out, pulling her towards him. She almost sobbed as his arms closed around her.

"We're home."

"Oh God, Chakotay…"

"We're home."

Her entire body shook in his arms.

"You have to forgive yourself," he whispered. "I need you to forgive yourself."

Her hands gripped at the back of his uniform and she held him even tighter.

"I don't know how to." The words were muffled against his shoulder and he could feel the collar of his jacket dampen as more tears fell.

"You'll learn. I'll help you."

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stem the flow of salt water coming from them. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried and for a ridiculous moment she wondered if she was doing it right. She almost laughed then and it suddenly became a little easier to breathe. Warm hands stroked over her back and she remembered the Admiral's words on how he was destined to marry someone else. The tears came anew and her already bruised lip was treated to another bite. How much of the Admiral's future had been erased? Was he still going to marry Seven? Was she going to end up alone? They were home. _She_ was home. In a few days time she'd no longer be _Voyager's_ captain. She wouldn't be _his_ captain. The words slipped out before she even knew what she was saying.

"I won't be your captain anymore."

He knew right there and then that his affiliations with Seven were over and done with. The emotions welling up in him told him in no uncertain terms that he'd been a fool to think that he'd ever be able to stomp out his feelings for the woman he was holding. Unintentionally, his lips brushed her ear as he said, "No, you wont."

He felt her bury her face in the crook of his neck, her lips precariously close to his skin, and again, as if acting on their own accord, his own lips brushed against her, this time settling at the skin just beneath her ear. She shuddered as she felt the pressure of his mouth against her neck, but she made no move to stop him. The tip of his tongue slipped out to taste the spot and he tried to keep from trembling as he felt her hands slide under his jacket and stroke up his back. He moved away from her neck, trailing his lips along her jaw line, before resting his forehead against hers. Her shallow breath tickled his face, and he couldn't help the groan that escaped him when she tipped her head and pressed her lips against his. She was hesitant at first, barely touching him, but as he reciprocated she grew bolder. Pressing herself against him, she concentrated on his top lip, catching it between her own, tickling it with her tongue. He, in return, nibbled at her bottom one, working carefully at a particularly rough part where she'd probably bitten herself. She opened her mouth ever so slightly, her tongue touching his before the kiss deepened. Unsurprisingly, she tasted faintly of coffee. His fingers tangled themselves in her hair, holding her to him while he tasted her. She moaned into his mouth and the vibration stirred his entire body. She tugged at his lower lip and another groan escaped him before they finally broke apart.

He hugged her close to him again. She'd stopped shaking and she finally seemed able to breathe properly. Enjoying the feel of her in his arms, he rested his head on top of hers. Her hair smelled of roses and he felt his body stir once more. Her hands had found their way under his turtleneck and were resting at the small of his bare back. He half-heartedly thought that this would be Tuvok's cue to interrupt.

He nearly chuckled when the sound of their comm. badges resounded through the room.

"Perfect timing," Kathryn mumbled, and he could practically see her roll her eyes. She twisted in his arms, removing her hands from his back. Exhaling slowly, Chakotay tapped the device on his jacket.

"Janeway here."

He couldn't help but marvel at how steady her voice was.

"Captain," Harry Kim started, and Chakotay almost laughed anew at her surprised look, "sorry to disturb you, but we have thirty four hails waiting to be answered."

"Thirty four?" she echoed, suddenly wondering how long she'd been in here. "Why didn't you put them through earlier?"

Tuvok's calm voice came to explain. "My apologies, Captain. The decision was mine. None of the incoming hails have a priority clause attached to them. As such, I concluded that the Commander and yourself had things to discuss that took precedence."

"Thank you, Tuvok." She said, smiling slightly. Apparently even after all these years, he still had the ability to surprise her. "Mr. Kim, put them through."

"Aye, Captain."

Chakotay released his grip on her, stroking her face lightly before taking her hand. Her eyes locked with his and he could tell that the storm raging inside her was settling. Squeezing his hand, she followed him down the steps to the lower level of the ready room. Picking up a sock, then another, she let go of his hand and headed towards her desk. He went to pick up the rest of her clothing, giving her the turtleneck before picking up her jacket and shoes. He watched her dress and comb her fingers through her hair, and he couldn't help but say it,

"You're beautiful."

She tried to hide the upward quirk of her mouth and looked away from him before meeting his eyes. "Thank you," she said, and then added, "For everything."

"You're welcome." They kept staring at each other, before the incoming messages announced their arrival and forced her attention away. He exhaled and headed towards the bridge. There was still work to be done and he needed to speak with Seven. He stopped just shy of the doors and turned back to her.

"I'm here, and I'm not leaving."

She looked up from the computer. She understood. "Neither am I." She smiled then, and the sight warmed his heart.

He nodded and she watched him leave as the doors hissed open. Swallowing, she looked around her ready room. She could still see them, her dead crewmen, but they kept a respectful distance and she thanked them for it. She wasn't naïve enough to believe that she'd managed to rid herself of her demons just because they were home, but she could feel the Captain gently stepping aside to make more room for Kathryn, and she allowed herself to settle on an emotion. A tentative feeling of elation filled her body as she faced the computer. They were home. One hundred and forty-six people were home. _She_ was home.

And in a few more days she'd no longer be his captain.

The End


End file.
